Just for You
by Bonsoir
Summary: FE7. Sometimes love means making a difficult choice. At the Dragon's Gate, Eliwood makes his decision.


**Title:** Just for You  
**Characters:** Eliwood, Ninian, Nils, Hector, Lyndis, Farina.  
**Genre:** Angst, Romance  
**Words:** 3,125  
**Notes: **For Kender, who has been rolling around on the floor of my mind for weeks asking for some more of this OTP. #blamekender. Feedback would be great as always.

* * *

_Solo por ti, caminaría (Just for you, I would walk)  
en la infinidad. (across infinity.)  
Afrontaría (I would brave)  
contigo la eternidad. (eternity with you.)  
Solo por tí... (Just for you…)  
_"Solo Por Ti" –Josh Groban

* * *

i.

Hector doesn't pretend to understand love; he laughs at the idea and declares he'll never have to experience such a frivolity. Lyndis is caught in between wanting to love with all her heart, and the unsettling fear of loving someone so strongly. Because, she says, short nails picking at the visible skin between the slits in her skirt, the harder you love someone, the more it hurts when they leave. Nobody likes to feel hurt. Even Hector can agree with that, though he laughs uncomfortably and edges away from the discussion and the look in Lyndis's eyes.

Eliwood thinks he has it all figured out—love. It's fresh and clean to him, still, at this stage in his life. And it's all so _easy_—loving his friends and his parents and life.

ii.

But then he's holding his father's body as the _Davros_ rocks beneath him, and love feels complicated. Lyndis is to be avoided at all cost, because the look in her eyes now isn't one of loss but pity, and he thinks _if only I_ and knows he doesn't deserve it.

Hector isn't much better. The last time Eliwood remembers him being so uncertain is at his parents' funeral. No tears, but he bumbled through conversation, starting and stopping sentences as if he had to comfort the guests instead of the other way around.

Well, there is nothing anyone can say to him, now, to make this better, this wrongness in his life that starts with the cold weight in his arms and ends—

Ninian watches him silently, sometimes. She thinks he doesn't see her, because she hides in shadows, but the guilt or sorrow or whatever-it-is pours off of her in waves that feel tangible. Nils won't meet his eyes, but Ninian does, on occasion, when he forces himself to the galley to eat with the others. The grief he feels is mirrored in her eyes, and it's easier to bear it all that way; for some reason, it is easier to grieve when you're not the only one doing it.

Is it selfish of him to find comfort in the grief of other people, in not having to grieve alone?

iii.

"Are you all right, my lord?" she asks, weeks later, when his father's death is not so fresh in his mind.

He turns to her, smiles and finds that it feels natural—genuine. "Time heals all wounds," is his response.

"Or so they say." She kneels on the ground across from him, hands folded in her lap. "Do you really believe it?"

"No." It is the first time he's been honest aloud about this thing—this cloud that still hangs over him. "Healing… The word brings forth the idea of wholeness, don't you think?" And his father—he'll never return. Nothing will be whole again.

She forces herself to hold his gaze; he can tell because her fingertips are trembling. "The flesh," she begins, hesitantly, and breaks off, face flushing just slightly, with apprehension or embarrassment or maybe something else. "The flesh can heal," she tries again, "and be wholly useful again…though it may scar."

He is silent as he thinks about her words.

Ninian pushes on, as if his silence means he does not understand, or wishes her to elaborate, "But I—I think you are right to say that healing is a poor word choice. Time cannot fix anything; it can only put distance between you and what troubles you."

"And do you think that distance makes it easier to bear?"

Her gaze drops to her lap and she doesn't say anything for a long time. Finally, her voice, whisper-soft, manages a, "Yes." And then, more assuredly, "I think so."

"Then," he says, touching her fingertips, "all there is to do is wait."

iv.

She is moonlight, soft and shadowed and beautiful. When he's with her, he doesn't think about his father's body in the ground, or the fact that his mother grieves alone in her too-empty rooms in the castle.

He thinks only of her, of Ninian, graceful when she dances and speaks and raises her eyes to meet his. He thinks he could watch her forever.

v.

She laughs as she gathers the cards on the blanket and pulls them toward her. He's used to the competitive gleam in the eyes of Lyndis and Hector, but not Ninian, and he finds it refreshing and exciting all at once.

"I win," she tells him, fingers stacking the cards.

He leans forward to kiss her—just a brush of his lips against her cheek.

"Yes," he agrees, voice deeper than he intends.

vi.

Nils calls Hector a brute, and Lyndis doesn't even try to hide her amusement. Ninian's hand feels _right_ on Eliwood's arm, and the twinkle in her eyes as she watches her brother captivates him.

"What is it like," he asks, "to have a brother?"

"Oh, it's wonderful." She turns those happy eyes to his and he wants to kiss her again, but not chastely, and that makes him wonder. Her expression sobers, just slightly. "I love Nils dearly. We've been through so much together. I don't—I don't know what I would do if I lost him, now. I don't know if I could bear to be separated from him."

vii.

The difference between love and lust hits Eliwood as Ninian dies in his arms.

Lust would not hurt so very, _very_ much.

viii.

Later, he has time to think about it, about Ninian's weight in his arms, about how satisfaction turned into sickness to see that bleeding dragon transform into a woman.

When he sits down and closes his eyes, he feels the resistance of flesh against his blade, her blood soaking through his clothes, her body as it relaxes.

"I love her," he tells Hector, and Hector shifts uncomfortably from one foot to the other and looks at Lyndis.

"I know," Lyndis says, gently, and Hector doesn't say anything.

Eliwood can't bring himself to use the past tense, because using the past tense is to admit to it or agree with it, and the past tense is a lie; he still loves her or he would not hurt so much.

ix.

The next few months feel like an eternity. The Dread Isle looks even worse the second time around. Eliwood can't sleep; he paces the camp and sighs into his hands and tries to assure himself that this is for the best; ridding the world of Nergal is the best he can do.

He wishes there were more, though, and tries not to look at Nils too closely, because the grief he sees there is the sort he dreams about in vivid detail, and Nils is the one he hears crying after the others have gone to sleep.

What can he do to make up for the loss of a sister? What is his loss, compared to this boy's?

"Hey." It's Hector. He sits with a sigh. "You've got to stop moping."

"Excuse me?"

"Over Ninian. She's gone, Eliwood. I—I know it hurts and all that, but this army needs you."

He wants to snap at Hector, wants to say, "As if you have any idea what love is even _about_, as if you have any right to talk about grief when you hide yours."

But he doesn't say anything.

And he is rewarded with another sigh from Hector. "It's not like it would have worked out, anyway. I mean…a dancer and the heir to Pherae. Pherae isn't as big as Ostia, but I'm sure it wouldn't be allowed. Nobody would have let you marry her, even though she was very pretty."

"Hector." His voice is hard, and he bites the inside of his cheek to keep from saying something cruel.

"What? It's true. I mean, I'm lucky, I guess. Being the second son and all. I can probably marry whoever I want." His laugh is fake, and it makes Eliwood want to hit him.

The sad thing is that he knows about Uther already, pried it out of Oswin weeks earlier when he realized that Hector was acting weird again, stumbling through sentences.

"Please," he says, "leave me be."

He says it to keep from telling Hector to shove off, because what he wants to say is that grief is different for everyone just like love is, and that Hector's way of coping doesn't make him a better person, doesn't make him _stronger_.

Hector leaves, then, a mumbled, "You shouldn't waste your time fretting," passing through his lips.

Eliwood has to bite his lip to keep from telling Hector that maybe he should heed his own advice.

x.

Seeing Ninian again is at once terrifying and happy. He doesn't cry until later, when the battle is won, and he doesn't care about the blood or the way his left arm just kind of dangles there uselessly: he says her name a thousand times and presses his lips to her face and hair.

Nils throws himself into her arms as soon as Eliwood pulls away. The boy's gasping sobs are heart-wrenching.

Eliwood finds that he is not sure how he feels about any of this.

xi.

"Must you go?" he asks her in front of Nils.

"Yes," she says. "Unless…" She meets his gaze, tilts her head to the side imploringly. "Unless there is a reason…I should stay." He watches Nils's fingers tighten around hers.

"Oh, Ninian," he chokes out, and wants to pull her away from her brother and into his own arms, wants to cover her in kisses and slide his fingers between hers, wants to make love to her and hold her afterward for an eternity. Wants to see her holding their children, too, but—

She smiles. "It's all right, my lord."

"Just Eliwood—one time," he pleads, sounding weak and feeling weaker. Nils lets his sister go, pushes her toward him, and Eliwood holds her tight, buries his face in the curve of her neck. "I can't ask you to stay here in this wretched place," he whispers. "I will fight any battle for you, but this… _This_…"

_I want to, but I can't._

To ask her to spend the rest of her life with him is too much, too selfish, too painful. A few years with him or a thousand more with her brother. He knows the right choice.

"Promise me something," he says when her fingers brush gently through his hair.

"Yes, my lord?"

He pulls away from her. "Promise me that you will be happy."

She just smiles at him again, smiles and kisses his cheek, and covers her kiss with her hand as if to keep it there. "I will do my best."

That is enough for him—it's all he feels he has a right to ask of her, anyway.

Before she disappears forever, she says, "Goodbye," and then his name, just his name, just, "Eliwood," soft and gentle, and then he feels her fingers leave his as she passes through the gate.

There is silence for a long, long time, and then Hector's disbelieving voice.

"You let her go," he says, mouth gaping open. "But I thought—I mean… You love her, don't you?"

"Yes."

Hector frowns. "So why'd you let her go, if you love her so much? I'd never—I can't—I _couldn't_—" His hands clench into fists and he looks around at the others, as if one of them will offer some insight to him. "Did you even _try_?"

Eliwood wonders if maybe there's something Hector hasn't told him.

"To ask her to stay would have been cruel," he tells his friend after a long moment. "I am not the coward you think I am. Time is…" He thinks for a moment, turns away from the gate. He flashes a smile at Hector and tries to keep the disappointment out of it. "I would do anything for her, you know. I would fight any battle, but I couldn't ask her to die before her time—not again."

"Oh."

"Lord Hector!" Farina's voice arrives when she does. She looks to be in terrible shape, and judging by the narrowing of Hector's eyes, he thinks so, too. But she's smiling, widely, and she puts one hand on her hip. "Now that, you know, all of this is over, and I've managed to keep you alive—"

"_Barely_," he is sure to tell her.

She rolls her eyes. "I think we should talk about my _next_ job."

"Your next job."

"The one you're going to pay me to do. I'm sure you have…bandits or something that need eliminated, right? Now that I've proven myself, you can hire me to—"

"No."

Eliwood's eyebrows rise as he watches their conversation.

"No?" She looks surprised.

"No," he repeats, sounding smug as he folds his arms across his chest and gives her a look that can be nothing but appraising. "If you lose any more blood you're going to die."

"What? Don't be ridiculous! I have never felt _better_—"

Hector pushes her back toward the stairs, saying, "To Serra with you, no arguing. Come on, let's go."

"Hector." Eliwood is smiling when Hector looks back up to him.

"Hey," is his reply. "You, too. That arm doesn't look very good."

Eliwood ignores that. "You shouldn't give up," he says.

Hector manages to not look too startled, but Eliwood has known him too long not to see the signs in his friend's face. "Well," he says, but either doesn't want to say anything else, or can't. Finally, he manages a rueful smile and an almost bitter, "It'd never work out."

"You don't know that unless you try."

He knows Hector wants to send that comment right back at him, but instead he says, "Who said I was going to give up anything without a fight?"

Eliwood's smile grows. "Well, good," is all he can think of to say, and Hector shakes his head and sighs as if he is dreadfully tired of everything before he continues pushing Farina forward.

Her indignant, "Give up what? What the hell are you talking about?" makes Eliwood want to laugh, but the laugh gets stuck somewhere in his throat, and he closes his eyes.

Hector will figure it out eventually—that letting Ninian go was the best thing he could have done, the least selfish choice Eliwood has ever made in his life. It isn't a perfect closure, but it is closure, and if nothing else, at least he can imagine that she will be happy and alive for the rest of his own natural life.

"I love you, Ninian," he whispers at the gate, as if she can hear him on the other side, "but I refuse to fight for your death. I refuse to ask you to let me kill you again."

xii.

"Hector. Congratulations." Eliwood's smile is warm and friendly, genuine.

Hector smiles in return, but it fades quickly, and he shifts from one foot to the other. "Do you still think you did the right thing?" he asks.

Eliwood merely raises an eyebrow.

"I mean…with Ninian." He looks around and lifts a hand to wave at someone.

"This is your wedding. Shouldn't you be thinking about your wife?"

"I have gotten more wedding night advice in the last hour than I care to ever hear again, so I've had no choice but to think about her." He pushes his hand back through his hair, raking it away from his forehead. "I know you're thinking about her, now. About Ninian, I mean."

Eliwood sighs, looks around at all of the milling guests; the bride is nowhere in sight, probably surrounded by well-meaning women ready to give her advice, too. Poor Farina. "It's been a few years, but I am sure that I did the right thing," he tells Hector, and smiles again. "I would have had to marry her right away, you know, and then we would have had to try for an heir immediately; we would never have been given the luxury of time, as you have had."

Hector grimaces, looks away. "I'm sorry," he says, and Eliwood isn't sure if he's sorry for bringing it up or sorry that Eliwood has to think about it here, surrounded by good food and drink and happy guests. "I figured you'd never forgive me if I didn't invite you, but I felt awful sending that invitation."

_It felt like bragging_, Hector doesn't say, but Eliwood hears it anyway.

"I'm relieved I didn't ask her to stay, Hector. It was right there, on the tip of my tongue, but I forced it back and I'm glad I did. I killed her once. To ask her to let me kill her again? I couldn't do that. Not to her, and not to myself, either."

"She would have stayed, if you'd asked her. Willingly."

Eliwood looks away, and then back to his friend. "Why are we talking about such gloomy things on your wedding day?" he asks. "Ninian is alive and well; I let her go because her well-being meant more to me in that moment than my own selfish fantasies of a happy life. I hardly think about her anymore, and never with regret."

Hector shifts again, then stops. "Well, all right. If you say so."

"It's true. I promise." He rarely thinks about Ninian anymore.

That part of his life almost feels like a dream, these days. Like something that didn't really happen, something he imagined into existence.

When the festivities are over, Eliwood heads back to Pherae. It is a long trip, and he finds himself thinking about Ninian again, about the softness of her hands slipping through his as she steps through the gate, about her smile and the gleam in her eyes as she slaps her hand down on top of the cards between them: _"Mine is a higher number."_

Asking her to stay would have been asking to let all of that fall away from her. A few years of happiness—he can't imagine it would have been worth it in the end. Watching her die a second time, slowly, watching her crumble, watching her lose the light in her eyes over the span of a few years instead of a few minutes—no.

He sighs and leans against the window in his carriage, lifts the curtain and looks out at the pre-dawn. "It hurt to do it, but I did the right thing," he says aloud, not caring that it's stupid and that no one can hear him. The only response he gets is that of a few crickets in the grass, and the chirping they make sounds pleasant.

"Goodbye, Ninian," he whispers, and lets the curtain fall across the window.


End file.
